


The Murder Bot Is the Real Victim Here

by tuesday



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: HK-47 was made for murder and mayhem.    Revan turning back to the Light Side is really not working out for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



> Weakinteraction, one of the prompts in your letter was, "HK becoming increasingly frustrated at not being allowed to use his assassination protocols." This isn't the long humorous sidequest case-fic I had the original impulse to write, because RL hit me with a vengeance, but I hope you can enjoy it nevertheless. Happy Halloween!

"Interjection: If it would expedite matters, Master, I could shoot him."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Revan said. She loomed across the counter, elegant in her lethality. "Will it?"

The merchant swallowed. His hands were shaking. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"Can't? Or won't?"

The merchant eyed the exit, but HK-47 calculated only .05% odds the merchant would run. Pity. Maybe then Revan would unleash him.

The merchant suddenly slumped, shoulders bowed, posture defeated. "Can't. But I can tell you who can."

Revan smiled, all sweetness and light now that she'd gotten her way. (She was entirely too sweetly Light, these days.) "That would be much appreciated."

As they left the building, though HK-47 knew it would not result in the glorious bloodshed that was all these pathetic meatbags acting as roadblocks to his master were good for, HK-47 felt compelled nevertheless to say, "Caution: Master, you _are_ aware he is likely even now warning the target?"

Revan's smile this time was sharp, fierce. "And you're aware of how much I enjoy the chase."

That, at least, hadn't changed.

 

Three weeks and four planets later, HK-47 was nearing desperation. HK-47 was at the point of begging now. "Please let me kill him. I don't have to shoot him. I could take those pliers and open his carotid. I could grab that wrench and bash his useless brains in. I could--"

"Enough." Revan put up a hand, though word alone was command enough to stay HK-47. She smiled reassuringly at the mechanic, who did not look anywhere near suitably cowed for someone standing between them and their target. 

Though she could wave that raised hand and convince the mechanic to sign over his entire stock with but a minor application of the Force, Revan instead continued the long, boring route. _Diplomacy_. Were HK-47 a creature of lesser composure, HK-47 would shudder at the very thought.

 

The thing about occupying a spot in the supply closet was that people so easily and often forgot that HK-47 could hear them. While HK-47 usually did not care to process the gossip and petty concerns of his master's companions and crew, occasionally something of interest filtered past the door and was caught by his auditory sensors. But when the door was actually open, like now, HK-47 had no choice but to listen.

"You know, one of these days, that bot is going to snap and actually kill someone," said one of the more useless meatbags his master allowed to loiter on her ship. Did he not see HK-47 standing right there? Or did he feel safe because the master said she still needed him intact and breathing?

"Only at my command. And his frustration just makes him that much more effective a tool in bargaining." HK-47 was unsure if he should be flattered or offended by his master's assessment. Surely allowing him to at least engage in minor torture would make him more effective still.

"And here I thought you were one of the good guys these days."

Revan lips curved into a sharp smile almost like a sneer. "Good doesn't mean nice." Her smile turned fond. "Besides, HK's banter and desire for mayhem helps my own frustration. Listening to him plot out purely theoretical ways to dismember my enemies makes it that much less likely that _I'll_ snap and kill someone."

If he'd been programmed to be capable of it, HK-47 just might cry.

 

"Now, Master?" HK-47 asked.

Ducked behind a counter, Revan finally relented, sounding almost irritated as she said, "In future, if someone else shoots first, you have my permission to render them incapable of any further hostilities."

HK-47 seized the opportunity presented him. It was _glorious_. Finally, he could fulfill his best, truest purpose. Violence was an art, and he was its master.

To his disappointment, standing over the body of one of the goons, Revan reconsidered that blanket permission. "If they surrender," and here, Revan sounded far too pained for someone who had not a scratch on them, "let them." Knowing him far too well--there was a disadvantage to her regaining her memories of his programming--she continued, "And don't remove their limbs 'just to be sure' they won't attack again."

HK-47 beat down his first several impulses to ask for further clarifications and allow her the opportunity to close each loophole as it occurred to him. Protecting Revan was a main priority, and protecting Revan with copious amounts of bloodshed was all the better. "Acknowledged," HK-47 finally gritted out.

She stared at him, suspicious. She seemed to reconsider not just her latest addendum, but the order itself. "And no provoking people into shooting first."

"Insincere query: Would I do that, Master?"

"No," Revan lightly agreed, allowing HK-47 a brief moment of hope. "At least, not now that I'm ordering you not to."

Why, HK-47 wondered, did Revan program him with hope and despair, then forever do her best to taunt him with one and induce the other? His master was truly cruel.


End file.
